Welcome to Paradise
by love and music are forever
Summary: Sequel to You Should Have Told Him, written by request of Nightshade3. Another character death fic. HouseWilson romance. Hee hee, what's not to love? Written from the same interesting perspective. A drabble.


**Okay, so I planned on "You should have told him" being a one-shot. But it received really good reviews. And Nightshade3 begged me to do a sequel….so I did! So, Nightshade, this fic is dedicated to you! I hope you like this too! Thanks so much everyone for reading! **

**Disclaimer: House—not mine. Wilson—not mine. Cuddy, Foreman, Chase, Cameron—not mine. Season Two—will be mine as of tomorrow!**

Welcome to Paradise

You watch as they lower the casket into the ground. Ground so frozen that it took hours to dig through, you know, you watched. They cover the smooth box of wood with dirt. Shovel after shovel-full is lowered into the coffin. Each hits the lid with a dull thud, just loud enough to remind the onlookers that the coffin isn't empty.

They're all here.

You think Cuddy would have worn something less sexy to a funeral; of course you wouldn't have wanted her to wear anything else, just for old time's sake. Foreman looks stoic; he's here just because he has to be. Chase has his nose down reading the prayer book. You wonder if he's thanking God your gone or cursing him for taking you. You could never be sure about him. And Cameron's the most pathetic of all. Tears are streaming down her face in torrents, an uncontrolable flood. She's always been too emotional. You would have chided her for it, had you been alive to do so.

That's it. No one else came.

You not surprised, are you? You shut people out of your life, who was going to come?

They've finished filling the hole, and handfuls of flowers, already wilted from the cold, are dropped on top as each of your mourners slides by saying their last respects. Cameron doesn't say anything, as she places her flowers on your new grave. Her slender hands slide over the gravestone before she walks away. Chase, never having been the eloquent one of your bunch, simply says, "Goodbye." There's a tear that falls from Cuddy's eye as she walks past, you know her throat is closed over and there's nothing she can say, even though there were things she wanted to. Foreman's the last one, he saunters up, "I'll miss you, you bastard." Then he turns and leaves, his long black coat swaying in the wind.

You watch them go. The figures who normally wear coats of white, now in ones of black.

You rise slowly and begin wandering among the other graves. There's no one here you know, and you feel more lonely now than you ever did in life. I guess you regret overdosing, don't you. Wilson wasn't there that time to stop you. Save you. But you wanted out. You wanted to let go. You couldn't go on without him and you knew that. The "accidental" overdose was just your alibi.

You turn back, you don't want to look at all these names and wonder who they were. You never would have thought of doing this in life.

You turn back.

He's there.

He's kneeling, his form as spectral as yours. His shoulders are hunched and silent sobs wrack his form. He reaches out one finger and traces it along your name. You remember doing the same thing. You remember the exact same tears falling from your eyes as you looked down at the stone that was the only reminder of a man you had loved. A man you never told because you were scared.

He seems so weak and frightened.

You know that feeling. You bore that burden in life, always afraid, always dependent upon other people. You don't want him to feel that.

Your hand is on his shoulder and your thumb rubs against his cheek. His head turns and he looks up at you. His eyes meet yours and there's an understanding that passes between you. Something you wished for so many times in life.

He reaches out and cradles your head in his hand, neither of you really seem to need words. All the things you should have told him come pouring out in a flood of emotion.

Tears are streaming down your face. His too.

For the longest time, you stand, simply locked in each other's embrace, wanting nothing more than to remain like that forever. Holding him is paradise.

He moves back slightly. "I should tell you."

"Shh—" You wrap him back comfortingly into your arms. "I should have told you."

"I always knew."

You too always knew. You always knew you loved him. Always knew he meant so much to you. And you never did tell him.

But it's alright now.

He's in your arms.

Welcome to paradise, Gregory House.


End file.
